


Dust in the Wind

by Claire



Category: Supernatural
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-06-07
Updated: 2009-06-07
Packaged: 2017-11-02 04:27:35
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,833
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/364963
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Claire/pseuds/Claire
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It happens on a Thursday...</p>
            </blockquote>





	Dust in the Wind

**Author's Note:**

> Written for Kink Bingo 2009, for the _Scars / Scarification_ square.

It happens on a Thursday, a fact that Dean kinda thinks is the other angels giving them a not-so-subtle _fuck you_. Cas is naked and shaking when they finally find him and they almost have to drag him to the Impala. Dean wraps him in a blanket that's too old and slightly worn and stolen from a motel somewhere along route 46, while Sam clears the backseat. The day-old burger wrappers that have been thrown there showing the only concession to food since Anna's appearance started them on a two day trip to where they are now, tired and dirty and holding an angel between them because he can't hold himself.

They don't stop on the way back to Bobby's, Sam and Dean trading off on the driving as the Impala speeds along the road at least ten over the limit as motel after motel fades into the distance behind them.

Dean keeps the music soft as Sam sleeps in the passenger seat, head against the window and neck at an angle that's going to have him bitching when he wakes up. He should have woken Sam up over an hour to take over the driving, but the road's empty, Steve Walsh is singing about a drop of water in an endless sea and Dean's not about to sleep any time soon, not when they're this close to Bobby's and every time he closes his eyes he sees blood and fire and feathers.

Cas hasn't come to properly for the entire trip, soft whimpering coming from the bundled up figure in the back the only indication that he's still alive. They'd managed to get him into some clothes before they got him into the back, a pair of Dean's jeans hanging off his hips like they were about to fall and one of Sam's tees all but swamping him. Dean thinks he would have teased him at any other time, with soft comments about Castiel playing dress-up.

But not this time.

Not when it took the two of them to dress him, Sam holding Cas up as Dean dragged the jeans over his legs, skin clammy and trembling, with gooseflesh all over. Not when Dean eased the tee over Cas's head, fingers brushing the vertical scars down his back, rough under his fingertips.

Dean can't get the scars out of his mind. He knows what they mean. Scar tissue, thick and harsh and still surrounded with flecks of red, screaming out exactly what Cas gave up.

Wings. Cas had fucking _wings_. And although Dean knew, it's different to _knowing_. He had _wings_. And now he has Dean. Some fucking trade off.

"A fair one."

The voice is quiet, _wrecked_ , and Dean's not expecting it. Not expecting to meet Cas's gaze in the mirror, blue heavy and muted.

"Cas--"

Because what can he say? What can he _possibly_ fucking say to make this better.

"This wasn't your doing, Dean. I made my choice."

A choice he wouldn't have had to make if Dean hadn't fucking _asked_ him, if Dean had kept his hands to himself.

The noise Cas makes is halfway between a laugh and a choked sob, and Dean doesn't know which one he'd prefer right now. "I disobeyed, Dean, but it was my choice. _Mine_."

The rest of the drive back to Bobby's is in silence.

Sam, predictably, bitches when they reach the salvage yard, hand rubbing at the back of his neck and telling Dean he should have woken him up 300 miles ago.

The _you looked like you needed your beauty sleep, princess_ is thrown easily over Dean's shoulder as he opens the Impala door, hand reaching to help Cas out. But Cas doesn't take it, just pulls himself out of the car, knuckles turning white as his fingers grip the door. And Dean wants to help, thinks he should. Thinks Cas is about to pitch over face first into Bobby's yard, but he doesn't. Doesn't pitch over, doesn't do anything but take slow, measured steps until he's facing Bobby, still half wrapped in the blanket and letters in faded white declaring _Stanford_ across his chest.

Bobby's gruff _spare room's made up_ meets Cas and Dean doesn't know what he's going to say. Doesn't know if he's going to say _anything_ until he nods, the _thank you_ low as he walks into the house and leaves Bobby looking at Dean to explain what happened.

Only Dean's still not sure. Cas is an angel but he's _not_ ; can still _hear_ Dean, but has thick gouges down his back that scream out Heaven's displeasure. Not so much fallen as _clipped_ , a butterfly pinned to a board when it's still alive.

"I need a beer," he says. And a shower. And some sleep. But mainly, he just _really_ fucking needs a beer.

Bobby just nods, moving slightly to the side to let Dean past him and into the house.

"What the hell happened, son?" Bobby asks, him and Sam following Dean into the kitchen.

"I don't know, Bobby," Dean answers, the beer he's just taken out of the fridge cold in his hand as condensation runs over his fingers. And he's never going to find out, not when he's down here, fucking _hiding_. "Damn it--"

The beer's still unopened when Dean leaves it on the table, feeling Sam and Bobby's gazes on him as he walks out of the kitchen.

The second steps from the top still creaks when anyone stands on it, and the sound sends Dean back to his childhood, when he practised shooting in the yard and his Dad and Bobby traded off on showing him how to fix the junkers. Back when Sam always had his nose in a book, even then, and home meant whiskey and gun oil all wrapped in his father's scent. Back when the fate of the world didn't rest on the shoulders of someone who's pretty sure he's going to fuck it all up _spectacularly_.

"Cas?"

The door swings open without sound and Dean half expects to find Cas asleep, not staring out of the window, Sam's tee discarded and jeans perilously low on his hips.

"I can still hear them," Cas says softly. " _Behold, for Castiel is punished_ \--"

And what the fuck can Dean say to that? _Sorry you got your wings ripped off, but hey, it's not all bad, right?_ Jesus.

Stepping further into the room, Dean closes the door behind him, the soft _click_ of the latch echoing through the silence. A hundred things are running through his head as Dean covers the distance between him and Cas in a few steps. _I'm sorry_ and _I'm here_ and _Want me to summon some angels and beat the fuck out of them?_

"I don't think that would help at this point," Cas murmurs, and Dean can hear the _although the offer's appreciated_ on the end, even if Cas doesn't actually say it.

"Might make you feel better," Dean comments, tone lighter than he feels, because it would sure as fuck make _him_ feel better, even if it did jack-shit for Cas.

He's close enough to see the Cas's back properly now, the sun coming in through the window highlighting the uneven flesh of scars that look far older than they should.

Cas turns to look at him. "Heaven is not without-- _compassion_." Word tinged with the bitterness Dean thinks is Cas's right.

"So, what, they _healed_ the scars?" And Christ, if this is Heaven's idea of compassion, Dean may be fighting for wrong fucking side here. At least with the demons you know what you're getting.

Cas doesn't answer as he turns back to the window and Dean wonders if he can see God in a pile of rusting cars. Letting the silence envelop him, Dean takes the final step towards Cas, hand reaching out to rest in the small of Cas's back for a moment, warm and solid. He presses closer, arms wrapping around Cas and dropping a kiss on Cas's shoulder, jerking back when Cas shudders and cursing himself for a fucking _idiot_ , because Cas has just lost his wings and Dean thought it was a fucking _peachy_ idea to press against the scars.

"Fuck, sorry--"

But Cas cuts off the concern, the worry that Dean's hurt him.

"No, it's-- Please--"

He twists his head, looking at Dean with wide eyes, bright and blown and only a thin ring of blue showing and _oh--_

Wrapping a hand around Cas's hip, Dean moves forward again, pressing a kiss to the nearest scar, grinning as Cas's hand finds his and squeezes.

"Sensitive, huh?"

"I think--" Cas breaks off with Dean's second kiss. "Nerve endings--" he manages.

And Dean gets it, fucking _gets_ it. The bastards took his wings, but left everything else. Left it all, so Cas could still fucking _feel_. So every time someone _touched_ , he'd remember what he lost. Fuckers.

"Dean, please--"

But Dean's not going to let them have this, not going to let them have anything but the fucking contempt they deserve. Because the only thing Cas is going to remember is the brush of Dean's lips against his skin and the feel of Dean's hand around his cock.

Dean snaps open the jeans, denim sliding off Cas's hips with little effort, as he wraps his fingers around the cock already hardening under his touch. He drops another kiss onto Cas's shoulder, and then another, kissing his way across Cas's back as he jacks him slowly.

"Dean, oh, _Dean_ \--"

Cas's grip on Dean's hand tightens as Dean licks a stripe across one of the scars, trembling under the touch of Dean's tongue. Dean grins, blowing across the wet strip of saliva as his hand quickens its pace on Cas's cock. And Cas is writhing, fucking _writhing_ , in his arms as Dean mouths the scars, alternating between the two of them and more careful with his teeth than he ever has been when he's had a cock in his mouth.

"C'mon, Cas--" Words spoken against Cas's skin, against the ridges of flesh that mark Cas. That mark him as beautiful and defiant and marred and _Dean's_. "Give it up--"

And Cas does. Fucking _convulses_ in Dean's grip as he comes, sharp and perfect, over Dean's fingers.

There's tremors and harsh breath as Cas slumps back against Dean, almost inaudible gasp running through him as the scars touch Dean's tee.

"I really wanna fuck you," Dean says, hand moving from Cas's softened cock to rest against his stomach.

"That can be arranged," Cas replies, eyes lighter than Dean's seen them since a field in the middle of Assfuck, Nowhere.

Dean smirks and he'd be walking to the bed _right now_ if Cas wasn't tugging him back, wasn't leaning close to murmur in his ear, voice quiet and careful and _sure_.

"My choice, Dean," Cas says, breath ghosting over Dean's skin, "was _always_ you."

And this time, as Cas leads them both to the bed, Dean finds he actually believes it.


End file.
